The Mason-Dixon Line
by LudoScared
Summary: Morgan wasn't alone when he rescued Aaron and Daryl. Who is she, and how will she fit in with the new group? Takes place Seasons 4-6 *Contains adult themes*
1. Chapter 1

**The Mason-Dixon Line**

Chapter One

 _five hunded days. one year four months one week six days since the world went to shit. i dont know why im still keeping track. shot a possum last night best meal ive had since the crow. gonna head south again today i think theres a prison ahead. may have to swing west to avoid trouble._

She closed her notebook and tucked it back in her bag along with her flashlight. She was cozy and warm, making her reluctant to start the day. She ran her hands over her face, took a breath and opened the top of her bed. Early morning sunlight filtered through empty tree branches, but the sun hadn't yet appeared on the horizon. Her bed swayed slightly with her movements, but after all this time it was a comfort. She had realized early on that a woman alone was most vunerable on the ground, so she had found that a parachute hammock hung in the branches of a tree was her safest bet. The first few weeks were nerve wracking, but she had quickly adjusted.

She sat up and slid her legs out, found the branch and steadied her swaying. She sat there eating the last of the possum while the sun came up. The tranquility was misleading, almost making her believe that the world had returned to normal. She shook her head, sucked the grease off of her fingers and stood up, her feet gripping the branch through her socks. The fall air was cold on her face, her breath like smoke. She could see frost on the few remaining leaves as she packed up her bed. Winter was approaching fast, and she worried how this one would be. The last one was rough; she had been farther north, where game was scarce, but scrounging was still a viable option. This time she wasn't so sure. She had given up checking houses since they all seemed to be either raided or held the undead.

She slung her bag onto her back, laced up her boots and scaled the 30 feet to the ground. Her boots were brown combat style, and had seen their fair share of action but still had a lot of life left. Her dark brown cargo pants hung low on her wide hips, the sheath of a knife hung from her belt on the left. A long sleeve black shirt was tucked into her pants, making it hug her curves and accentuate her ample breasts, which she had pulled a large flannel shirt over. She had always been a bigger girl, ever since puberty, but she carried it well. Fingerless leather gloves kept her hands warm, while a hooded serape helped hide an unruly mop of curly red hair. She stepped onto the road and turned right, a staff almost as tall as her 5'4" frame in her left hand. Another day was begun.

She had been walking for the last eleven months, ever since she had been on her own. She had made her was down from Pennsylvania, just north of Harrisburg, making her way south. She had headed home, or as close to a home as she had ever known, but when she had arrived in Big Canoe three weeks ago, there was nothing left.

She found his old trailer first, or what was left of it. The end which housed the bedrooms was still barely intact, but the other end had not fared so well. It had completely collapsed under the weight of the ivy plants that strangled the structure. She decided to risk it and venture inside to see if anything was left. She clambered in the open end, pushing vines aside to squeeze through. The floor creaked and groaned underfoot, but held. His room was on the far end, and she pushed the door open, not sure what to expect.

The room was a disaster, with the window broken the weather and wild animals had don their worst. What used to be matresses were now mounds of dirty shredded fluff, moldy fabric strewn across the floor, the smell of refuse old and new pervaded the room. There was a single five drawer dresser in one corner, but the contents had been dumped along with the drawers. The closet door was attached only by the upper hinge, making it hang awkwardly across the opening. She peered inside, but it had been cleaned out. She turned to leave when a small box about the size of a cereal box caught her eye. It had been tucked into the back corner of the upper shelf. She couldn't reach it, so she hung her weight on the edge of the shelf until the rotting wood let go. Thebox clattered to the floor, but the claspheld, preventing the contents from spilling out.

She picked up the box and examined it. It was wooden, well made, with a delicate hand carved design in the lid. She recognized his work immediately. She brushed her hands over the top reverently. She tucked the box under her arm and made her way back out, carefully picking her way through the debris again. Once she was out, she sat down on a nearby log and opened the box, her fingers trembling. There wasnt much inside, and empty pack of rolling papers, an old GI Joe figure missing an arm, and an assortment of papers so faded they were indistinguishable. She closed the box and tucked it in the bottom of her bag. At least now she had something to remind her of him.

The next trailer she visited had also been reclaimed by mother nature, having been abandoned long before the apocalypse. There was nothing left to explore, only a single wall from the kitchen was still standing. She sat on the ground in front of the remnants of where she lived, and sobbed, rocking herself with her arms around her knees. She hadn't truly expected him to be there, but when she was faced with the reality of it she had broke down.

* * *

 _503\. prison is due east maybe a mile. i can hear people there a horse and at least one running vehicle. its strange to hear these things it feels like an assault and a welcoming at the same time. still gonna push forward people cant be trusted anymore_

Her rumbling stomach broke her concentration. Except for a handful of underripe berries, she hadn't eaten since the possum she had caught. Food was priority one today, but she worried about her vicinity to the prison. There were people there, but she didn't know if they were friendly and she preferred to not find out. West, she decided, was her best bet for food before moving on. She took out her string and hooked each looped end onto her staff, turning it into a longbow. She pulled a fletched arrow from her side pouch and notched it. She moved slowly, following the game trails, sure footed and quiet over the pine carpeted floor of woods. She had been hunting for a good hour when a rabbit darted by, but instead of firing, she watched to see where it headed, hoping it would lead her back to a den with more rabbits. She moved silently, just as he had taught her, giving the rabbit just enough space so that she wouldn't spook it.

She had taught herself how to shoot during her time at the camp. They had found a library on one of their first runs, and she had discovered a number of books on the subject, from how to construct the bow, what type of wood and string to use, to how different size bows would react. She learned how to steady her draw, and most importantly how to make arrows. It had taken awhile to become proficient, she was terrible at first, but now the bow was a part of her, an extension of her arm.

Her patience paid off 30 yards later when she came upon four rabbits in a small hollow. They were on the smaller side except for one, and she quickly decided that would be her first one. She crouched down behind a fallen tree and pulled three more arrows out, setting them along her left foot. She drew back, let out a slow breath, and released. Within a half second she had fired the other three arrows. Three rabbits were down but the fourth had bolted back down it's hole. She shrugged and stood up, gathering the dead ones and headed off to retrieve the last arrow.

The weather had turned for the better and it was actually beautiful out. She found a small clearing and started a fire with her flint and sat down to dress her kill. She pulled an eight inch bowie knife from the sheath on her hip and sharpened a spit. She skinned and gutted the rabbits and set them over the fire to cook. While they roasted she cleaned the skins; with winter on it's way, they would make a perfect lining for her boots. Once the rabbits were cooked she pulled one off and ate greedily, polishing off a whole rabbit and half of another, washing them down with the last of her water. She ate then too fast, and she worried a bit that her stomach would revolt later, but she was willing to chance it. Pleasantly full, she stretched the hides over small wooden frames she had with her and tied them to her bag to dry. She then cleaned the meat from the remaining carcasses and wrapped them in a leather pouch for later. She found a small creek nearby that gave her the chance to refill her water bottles and boil it over the fire.

The sun was high by the time she was done, so she decided to make the most of the light and continue south. There was a small compass hanging on the strap of her bag, so she consulted it and headed off. An hour passed before she came to a road. She looked in both directions but there were no markers in either direction that she could see. She decided on heading to the left, even though it lead eastwards in the direction of people. She didn't have a specific destination in mind, she just was trying to escape the painful memories that had been dredged up. She wasn't on the road long, maybe an hour and a half, when she came upon another encampment, and this one gave her a bad vibe. She climbed a tree to get a better look, figuring it might be easier to pass undetected once night fell.

There were six vehicles that she could see, six or eight ancient RVs, all of them parked end to end forming a perimeter, but the thing that made her heart jump into her throat was the military tank. It may have been just an oversized lawn ornament, but she had a sinking feeling that it wasn't. It was difficult to tell how many people were there since the RVs partially obstructed her view, but there was at least one child that she could see playing. As she watched, the child disappeared from view behind a line of laundry. She couldn't make out words from this distance, but the scream that echoed off the trees was unmistakable. An undead. Her heart sank as the screams continued until a gunshot rang out. Once again all she could hear was the buzzing of voices.

She continued her watch from the tree, and it seemed like the camp was a little more wary after that. She would have to circle wide around to avoid being seen. She waited, plotting her route as best she could from her perch. Darkness soon fell, and she descended from her branch. She followed her planned path as best she could, at one point passing a camp that appeared to have been raided. Once she passed that, she found a big sturdy tree to hunker down in for the night. Climbing was more difficult at night, but this wasn't the first time she had done it. She located a thick branch jutting from the trunk and rigged up her hammock. Soon she was cocooned and safe, munching on a chunck of leftover rabbit.


	2. Chapter 2

**Warning! Adult content! Be prepared!**

* * *

Chapter Two

 _504 something is off the morning air feels heavy as if a great sadness has washed over it bad omen time to get out_

Quickly and quietly she slipped out of bed, bundled up her belongings and got a move on. The longer she lingered the worse that odd sense of wrongness grew. She was determined to put as much space as she could between herself and that tank. She moved at a quick pace, moving quietly through the dense underbrush. The game trails were easy to follow, and every so often she would see an old boot print or oddly broken branch, telling her she wasn't the only one in the area who knew how to track. She regained the road after almost two hours, but kept to the treeline in case someone should come along. She hadn't gotten as far as she wanted, avoiding the tank had meant heading back towards the prison. She came across a sign warning that hitchhikers could be escaped convicts, so she kept moving without eating, her stomach rumbling in protest.

The sun was well past it's zenith, maybe an hour or so of daylight left, and she was contemplating stopping for the night when it happened. She had started to question whether she was imagining things when she has woken that morning. The sound of a gunshot the likes of which she had never heard before. Almost more like a cannon being fired. Then came the explosion, the sound rolling off the nearby hills. Immediately she knew that the tank she had seen was definitely not just for show. She moved into the trees and waited to see what the noise would draw. The silence extended, drawing out the minutes, and still she crouched unmoving. She had just started to stand back up when suddenly the hills were echoing with the pops and bangs of gunfire, the familiar sounds of a firefight beating against her ears. She decided then and there that it was the perfect time to stop and get to higher ground.

She scanned the nearby trees looking for what she needed when another explosion boomed, and she ducked instinctively. She located a tree about 20 feet from the road and bolted for it, but before she could start her ascent an undead appeared from behing it and reached for her, snarling through a mouth that had been dislocated. It appeared to be male although the advanced state of decay made it hard to distinguish. The few clothes it had left were tattered rags, the flesh on it's scalp had torn away and hung down the left side of it's face. The stench of it made her eyes water, and she felt the bile rising in the back of her throat. She shoved it to the ground with her staff, pulled out her knife and buried it to the hilt in it's skull. With a wrench of her wrist the knife came free and she wiped the gore off the blade with one of the undead's fabric rags. Now she needed to locate a new tree and get up. There was no way she was sleeping with that stinking pile of rotten flesh underneath her. A third then fourth boom sounded by the time she found a suitable tree about five yards farther in. By the time she was up, three more had gone off and the sounds of gunfire had almost ceased. She sat down on a branch, catching her breath and allowing her heart to slow. She prepped her bed and climbed in, hugging herself against the nightmares she knew would plague her tonight.

 _She had been there since the beginning, had help formed it, and now she was watching it die. She saw the fire, trapping six year old Neesha and her mom Ciara. Jackson gunned down before her eyes. Their simple barb wire fence had not been enough. It only worked on the undead. The living were much more cunning and amoral. She was running, desperate to get away, but as she rounded the corner of one of the RVs, a strong hand snatched her upper arm, stopping her instantly as her forward momentum flung her to the ground. She looked up, and her eyes focused on a filthy face leering at her. The sound of gunfire was all around her, but she knew their camp was outgunned and outnumbered. The man straddled her, leaning close to lick her face, his hard dick pressing into her belly. She squirmed under him trying to escape, her stomach churning as she realized what he would do. He tucked her hands under his knees, crushing them under his weight to keep her from fighting back._

 _"Oh no, sweet thing, you're all mine. I'm gonna fuck your brains out, then I'm gonna blow your brains out and fuck you again." He grabbed her tit, squeezing it in his hand as he undid his pants with the other. She bucked against him, but he was too big for her to throw off. He laughed at her efforts as his cock came free, and he pumped it a few times, making her gag with revulsion. With a jerk he got up just enough to flip her on her stomach, then pinned her wrists behind her back. He tied them with a legth of rope, the fibers cutting her skin, then yanked her pants and panties down. He kept pulling until they were off, then shoved her knees under her, her face pressed to the earth. Then he was in her, tearing her, the pain blinding her. She refused to cry, she wouldn't give him that satisfaction, even as he rammed into her repeatedly, the rocks under her face shredding her skin. She concentrated on the blade of grass in front of her studying the veins that crossed it's surface. Before long he was shuddering from an orgasm, then he was gone, leaving her bare ass in the air. She rolled to the side and curled up, anger welling inside her._ _She felt the muzzle pressed to her forehead and his face flashed through her mind. 'If I die now at least my last thought is of him.' She smiled then, and that smile is what spared her life._

She woke with a start, sweat beaded on her brow and her breath caught in her throat. She could still feel the cold metal on her skin. She despised these nights. She took a couple shaky breaths, trying to clear the images from behind her eyes. Reliving what had happened, what she had been forced to do, always left her feeling drained, the taste of copper in her mouth no longer real but still there. It was still dark out, only the sound of the wind gently gusting in the trees. She was utterly alone. The realization hit her like a high five to the face with a brick. She stuffed a piece of her shirt in her mouth to stifle the sobs as tears rolled down her face. She could think of nothing that she wanted to live for, but even now the thought of dying was repulsive. Maybe her will to live was simply to spite her father after all he had done to her. To prove to herself that she was better than him because at least she wasn't undead. Slowly her sobs faded, the tears dried, and she was feeling more like her usual self. It was a new day, the first slivers of light had appeared on the horizon, so she pulled out her notebook and penlight and made her daily entry.

 _505 shit hit the fan hard. i heard the tank go off at least 7 times huge firefight. wonder if it was at that prison. would make sense but why? if youre trying to take it how would you live somewhere you just blew holes in? stupid_

Her stomach grumbled, reminding her that she hadn't eaten since yesterday morning. She tucked her notebook away and pulled out the leather pouch. The last chunks of rabbit were more a tease than anything close to an actual meal but it was better than nothing she supposed. She contemplated just staying there for the day, snuggled in her bed shut away from the world, but the call of nature quickly vetoed that idea. So she climbed out and packed up, the sun just starting to peek over the hills. She climbed down and leaned against the tree while she did her business, then made her way back to the road.

As she walked, her mind wandered unbidden back to her old camp. It was haphazard at the start, she had come across them about a month after everything had started. The three of them had stopped on the side of the road to eat when she came upon them. He had seen her first and immediately grabbed for his rifle. She put her hands up.

 _"We've got nothin worth stealin here."_

 _"Me either," she replied. "Just passing through." The woman pulled a little girl behind her, obviously unnerved by her appearance. She glanced at their lunch and noticed how meager it was. A single can of baked beans between the three of them. "If you'd let me join you for a spell, I've got some food I can share. Y'all are looking a little low." She motioned towards the can. "I'm gonna take my pack off. Don't shoot me."_

 _He nodded and lowered the rifle, but kept it at his side in case she was bluffing. She knelt down and rifled through her pack, and pulled out a can of spaghettios, a can of peas and a half eaten bag of jerky. She held them out for him. "It's all I've got but you guys look like you could use it more than me."_

 _The man relaxed and set the rifle down and waved his hand for her to join them. He looked to be about 50, about 5'7" but scrawny, with deep olive skin and dark wavy hair. There was a slight accent to his voice, but it was too subtle for her to place._

 _"Thanks," the woman said, taking the food. She was tall and skinny like him, but with beautiful ebony skin and dark curly hair cut short, framing her face like a halo. The little girl looked to be five or six, and was the spitting image of the woman, with longer hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. "Come sit."_ _She nodded and joined them, sitting on the ground with her legs crossed, using her bag to lean against. "My name's Ciara, and this is Neesha," she said, indicating the girl hiding behind her. "That's Jackson." He bobbed his head as he opened the cans she had given him._

 _"Cat Mason. Y'all look like you've been on the road awhile. Where ya headed?"_

 _"We were trying to get to Harrisburg, the couple we came across last week told us it's been overrun," Jackson said, passing the spaghettios to Ciara. She spooned some onto each of the three plates, when it dawned on her that she didn't have one for Cat._

 _"I'm sorry, I don't have anymore plates," she said, looking as if she might burst into tears._

 _"S'ok, just hand me the can," Cat replied, pulling a small piece of metal from her pocket. She unfolded it to reveal a small spork. The little girl had been watching quietly, but when she saw Cat seemingly make a utensil appear out of thin air, she squealed with delight._

 _"Momma, she did magic!"_

Her reverie was broken suddenly by a snarl, and she spun around to realize a small horde of undead had come upon her from behind. She pulled her knife and went on the offensive, holding two off with her staff while she took out a third with her blade. More kept coming and she was quickly overwhelmed, but she kept fighting. Without warning the head of the undead closest to her exploded as a knife tip appeared between it's eyes. Another crumpled as a stick smashed it's skull. She realized that someone had come to her aide.

With a renewed purpose she fought her way out, and the two of them dispatched almost a dozen undead. They stood there catching their breath and she nodded at him. He was slightly taller than her, with chocolate skin, a short dark beard and close cropped hair. He wore dark green pants tucked into his black boots, and a dark grey shirt under his tan coat. He was wearing a hiker's pack on his back similar to her own.

"Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome. You must have been really lost in thought for them to get that close."

"Yeah. Continuation of bad dreams."

"Morgan Jones," he said, holding out his hand. "You're not headed to Atlanta are you?"

She hesitated, then shook her head, took his hand and responded, "Jane, Jane Sampson." She wasn't comfortable giving out her name. It was silly and superstitious but it was the only thing left that was well and truly hers. She just couldn't bring herself to let it go yet.

"Alright, **_Jane Sampson_** , where you headed?" He could tell by the hesitation in her voice that it wasn't her real name, but he let it slide.

"South, away, no particular destination." She looked around and noticed that she had been coming up on a crossroads and figured that he had appeared from there. "What about you? Where you goin?"

"Lookin for someone. Last I heard he was headed north. Not sure if I'll ever find him or if he's still alive, but it gives me purpose." He shrugged his shoulders as if to say 'What else you gonna do?'

"I wouldn't go that way. You may not have heard all the commotion that went on yesterday. It's kinda what set me off balance." She indicated the way she had come with a jerk of her thumb. "You got anything to eat? We can trade stories and decide what to do next."

This statement surprised herself, normally she would have just kept moving without a second thought for him. But there was something about Morgan, his eyes reminded her of Jackson, and his face had an open honest quality tinged with sadness that made her want to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"Sounds good," he said. "Let's find someplace a little less exposed first." They found a small raised clearing just a few minutes from the road that gave them visibility all around without being visible themselves, and sat down to a small meal he produced. It was simple fare, a can of peaches in heavy syrup, some very stale crackers and can of sardines, but to her it was like Thanksgiving. She chewed slowly, relishing the super sweet peaches especially. He told her about Atlanta, how he had gone looking for his friend Rick after they had crossed paths for a second time, and she shared about the prison and camp she had passed and the shootout the next day.

He nodded slowly, absorbing the information she had given him. Rick had been at a prison, but from what she had described, there probably wasn't a prison left. If Rick had survived, he would be on the move again. "So Jane, what's your plan? Still just headed south?"

She thought on her answer for a few minutes, slowly chewing a bit of jerky. "I'm torn to be honest. I told myself it's easier and safer on my own. No one to worry about but me. But sitting here with you has made me realize how lonely I am. I could use a friendly face, someone to watch my back, just having a conversation. I need to get out of my head as I'm sure you noticed. If you wouldn't mind the company I could travel with you a ways."

"I'd like that," he replied, a grin lighting his face. "Sounds like north may not be a viable option. Any ideas?"

She thought for a moment, and was about to say no when she remembered something. "Before I passed the prison, I crossed a set of train tracks with a sign. A place called Terminus, said it was a sanctuary. Maybe your friend headed there. I wasn't gonna go there, I've been too leery of places like that lately, but we can go check it out. "

"Sounds like a plan. How do we get there?"

"There was a map posted with the sign. It looked like all these different tracks converge at a terminal there so all we need to do is find some tracks and start walking."

Morgan nodded in agreement and stood up. "Let's go then."

* * *

 **Thank you for the interest! I hope this chapter keeps you reading. Good or bad, let me know!**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

 _505 gained a companion yesterday. morgan but i told him my name was jane. not sure if i wanna be cat anymore. new name new start. we're headed to terminus see if his friend rick is there not sure whats gonna happen if he finds him. we'll see_

When they had stopped that first night she was surprised to learn that he slept on the ground. But when she saw his ingenious set-up she had to laugh at it's simplicity. Just a ring of dead leaves and twigs that would crunch underfoot when stepped on.

"Aren't you worried about the living? They would just step over it," Cat asked him.

He shook his head and replied, "They haven't bothered me yet. Once I'm in the sleeping bag it blends in pretty well. In the dark it just looks like forest floor. I'm also a naturally light sleeper. Haven't had any trouble yet."

"Well, I give you credit. Until I figured out my hammock i never slept well. Besides being worried it was always too uncomfortable. I'd usually end up finding a rock in my back," she added with a laugh.

When she climbed down the next morning, Morgan was already awake, his staff spinning in intricate patterns around his body, his movements fluid and precise, as if he was dancing. She sat down against the tree watching him, mesmerized. He handled his staff like she handled a bow, as if it was a part of him.

"What was that?" she asked him once he had finished and sat down beside her. Now she understood how he had rescued her.

"Aikido. A friend was teaching me." Morgan looked away, but not before she saw the sadness in his eyes. She nodded her head and didn't press. She could tell he wasn't ready to discuss it just yet. They ate a quick meal in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

"Think you could teach me?" she queried as they packed up to leave.

"Sure, but I won't let you sleep in anymore," he joked, and they began their trek.

They found a set of tracks two days later. Spending time with Morgan made her regret writing off people entirely. He was easy to get along with, serious but a quick wit. She found herself opening up to him, so when they came upon the tracks a sense of unease settled on her. They ran northeast to southwest, but a sign posted at the crossing let them know which way to go. She felt dread wash over her as she realized that Terminus was going to happen. She wasn't ready to face a group, still getting used to the idea of Morgan. He saw the look on her face as she stared down the tracks.

"It's late enough to stop for the night. We'll start fresh in the morning," he said, easing her fears a bit. He guessed what she was struggling with and was giving her time to adjust.

"Sounds good." There was still a bit of sun peeking over the horizon, so she decided to make use of it. There was a servicable tree only ten feet in, so she set her pack at the base and strung her bow. "I'm gonna try and catch something fresh," she stated and headed into the woods.

Only twenty minutes had gone by when she reemerged carrying a plump groundhog. Morgan already had a small fire going, so he sharpened a spit while she skinned and gutted the rodent. She placed it over the fire to cook, turning it occasionally. She became lost in thought staring at the fire, though, and burned part of the carcass.

"It's getting quite well done there," Morgan observed, breaking her reverie.

"Shit." She quickly spun it around, shaking her head at herself. Most of it was salvagable, so they ate their fill and set the rest aside to supplement their dwindling stock.

"Thank you," she said, "for this. Guess I needed some time to adjust."

"You'll get there. Everything will work out like it should."

On the fifth morning, as they were eating a breakfast of squirrel she had caught, he asked, "So what are you writing every morning?"

"Just my way of keeping track of the passage of time. I don't have dates, by the time I started over a month had already gone by. So I just started writing what number day it was and a quick blurb about what had happened. It's helped me keep sane."

"So how many days have passed?"

"By my calculations at least 510 days have passed since the dead started to rise. It seems like much longer sometimes."

"Not even two years? It does seem much longer."

They had passed two more of the signs that she had mentioned, but it was difficult to gauge how long it would be before they reached Terminus. She was at war with herself. She felt comfortable with Morgan, but the thought of even entering another camp, whether or not she was staying, filled her with dread. Morgan had picked up on it, and tried to draw her out of her thoughts.

"So what about before? Where did you live? I can hear a twinge of the south in your voice but it's very muted."

A sad smile crossed her face. "I was actually born in Georgia, grew up in Big Canoe until I was 14. Then I moved to Parish, New York. Lived there until I was 18, then I just bounced all around whenever I felt like it. This is actually the first time I've been back here since I moved away." She fell quiet, doodling in the dirt with her staff. "Didn't think I'd ever be back."

"Did you have family here?"

"No family. I did have a friend though. I wish I had come back sooner, before all this." She waved her hand in the air. "I never got to say goodbye. Guess it's too late now. I actually went back. Not sure what I thought I'd find, cause there was nothing left. After that is when I just started south. Figured eventually get to the coast, find a boat and keep on going." She shrugged her shoulders. "You're derailing my plans, Morgan," she said with a laugh. "Thanks."

He laughed at that. "Well allow me to continue derailing them. Let's get a move on. We're running late."

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, but started packing up. Her steps were a little lighter now, she had forgotten what having a friend to talk to felt like. Maybe she would consider staying at Terminus for a bit. She could always leave later.

They walked in companionable silence, each understanding the need for stealth. They would swap stories whenever they stopped, Morgan telling her about Duane, and she told him tales about her first camp. In the morning they would spar to keep nimble, and he began to teach her the varied ways a staff could be used. She was sore after every session, Morgan barely withholding his blows.

"I'm not sure if you're the worst teacher ever, or the best," she remarked, rubbing the shoulder he had just whacked when she was unable to deflect his attack.

"You won't learn as quickly if I go easy on you." He swung at her again, but she caught his staff before it hit her, parrying the blows he rained upon her. She was a quick study, and pretty soon she knew she would be able to hold her own against him.

* * *

 _526 close to terminus should reach it before dark hope its still there been a long time since i had something to look forward to_

They were both anxious this morning. They had heard what sounded like an explosion yesterday afternoon, but it had seemed to come from all around as the sound echoed off the hills.

"Are you sure we should continue?" she asked as they packed.

"I learned the hard way that all life is precious. If there's people then we should help. It's why I stopped for you," he stated softly.

She nodded her assent. "Okay then. Off we go." The morning was cold, so they covered their faces, Morgan donning a full face mask while she tied a bandana over her mouth and nose. She was quite intimidating looking, the bandana was a half skull design, dark ski goggles covered her eyes, and her dark hood was pulled tight over her hair. They walked continuously, not even stopping to eat as they normally would. She was almost feeling excited.

Dusk was approaching, and she had started looking for a place they could rest for the night. They had made less progress than expected after they had come across a small herd shuffling across the tracks. The undead had been just beyond a bend in the tracks and Morgan and Jane had let their guard drop, so they hadn't had a chance to find cover before they were spotted. Morgan stood to the right of her since she was left handed, allowing them both greater range of motion. This was the first they had run into since they had met, and she was grateful for the sparring sessions. It not only kept them proficient but allowed them to work as a team, so that neither one became overwhelmed. There were 14 of them in all, but were spaced far enough apart that after the first wave of five, they only had to face one or two at a time.

After that they had been more vigilant, pausing more often when a suspicious noise arose. She had fallen a few paces behind him, contemplating a tree she had spotted off to the right when he saw the sign. It was another of the Terminus signs, but someone had altered it. With a handful of mud they had scratched out all but the word sanctuary and scrawled "NO" above it. He turned to her and pulled off his mask.

"I guess we know what that explosion was," he said with sadness in his voice. She came up and surveyed the sign as she pulled her bandana down around her neck. She stood there, hands on hips, her head hung to hide the tears that welled in her eyes. She hadn't realized how much she was looking forward to it until that moment. He looked around, and spotted an x mark inside of a circle that had been carved into a tree. Farther into the woods another tree had been carved with the same mark. He walked over to the nearest one and ran his hands over it. The marking was recent, sap still seeping from the wound. She blinked away the tears and looked at him. "Let's see where this leads," he said, and she nodded her agreement.

They followed the markings until dark and made camp for the night. Usually Jane slept in her perch and Morgan slept on the ground, but they had stopped too late to set up a perimeter. So tonight she rigged up a hammock for each of them, one on either side of the trunk. He shook his head at her contraption but climbed in anyway.

"How on earth do you get comfortable in this thing?" he asked her incredulously. "Now I know what a fish in a net feels like."

"Get your body on the upper half with your butt in the middle. It can take a couple tries." She grinned as he grunted and groaned his way around. Suddenly he quit moving and gave a deep sigh.

"Now I see why you still sleep up here. Feels like a mini vacation. All I need now is a piña colada," he quipped.

"Are we gonna have to find you a hammock now?" she replied with a laugh.

"Definitely putting this on my Christmas list," he shot back. "Goodnight Jane."

"Goodnight Morgan."

 _530 so glad to get out of this tree now truly out of food except for a snack cake which morgan says was his sons i dont think he can bear to part with it_

The next four days were slow going. The markings were easy to follow but the undead seemed to be everywhere. At first it would just be one or two, but the farther they went the bigger the groups got. And the forest here was thick, making it harder to spot them ahead of time. The third day after leaving the railroad tracks they never left the tree they were in. It wasn't quite a herd, just a seemingly constant stream of undead. So they took the forced respite to patch up clothes, sharpen dulling blades and polish off the last bits of food. She had been able to hunt and scavenge enough food over the past week to supplement what Morgan had on him, but with two of them the food didn't stretch as far.

On the fourth day they were able to climb down and continue their trek. The groupings of undead had dwindled in the night, and they only came across two pairs of them before the signs in the tree led to an elementary school. There were undead inside, at almost every window, but the part that was most disturbing was outside the walls. There were remnants of a fire with a chicken wire cooking grate on top. Laying on the grate was the remnants of a human leg from the knee down. The foot was untouched by the fire, and they could tell that the person who had owned it was alive when it was removed.

She turned away, her stomach roiling at the sight. She couldn't understand how people had turned to cannibalism. As she stood there contemplating how the world had gotten to that point, Morgan noticed an undead laying on the ground. It was still moving, but seemed to be incapacitated. With a quiet shushing sound, he slid his blade into it's temple, ending it's misery.

They moved on, following more markings on the trees.. They soon came upon a church, a small white clapboard building so common in the south. Morgan headed inside, while she explored the exterior. The bottoms of the windows had been boarded up, and there were organ pipes sticking out of the ground around the porch steps. Near one corner someone had carved 'YOULL BURN FOR THIS' into the wooden siding. She made a full curcuit around the building then sat on the steps and waited for Morgan. He had asked her for a few minutes alone and she had gladly obliged, since her shaky faith in God had been ground to dust since her father.

Almost 10 minutes had passed and she was contemplating going in to find Morgan when he came out smiling. "I know where he's headed," he proclaimed, holding up a poorly folded map. "Looks like he met up with a group bound for D.C."

She sat for a moment, chewing over the news. D.C. was in the opposite direction, and winter was getting closer. But Morgan had been good for her, and she wasn't quite ready to give up her newfound companionship.

"Then I guess we're goin to D.C."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

 _563 i think were getting close now. not sure what road were on so weve been going slower until we figure it out. morgan took down two guys with a W carved on their forehead while i was hunting but wouldnt kill em. not sure how smart that was_

They had been on the road a month, but making good time. They had come across a few undead, but nothing like the herds they had seen in Georgia. When they came across houses they would scavenge but not much was left. Once she had found a full ounce of weed stashed in some kids bedroom along with rolling papers and a small bowl. That night she packed the bowl and lit up. Morgan declined when she offered, so she shrugged her shoulders and took another hit. It was the first time she had been high in years, and it didn't take much to make her head swim. She had only used it once after that, deciding that she would only do it occasionally. Who knew when or if she would ever come across any more. Besides, going around stoned all the time would just get her killed.

The day had started out cold, frost covering everything, but had soon warmed up enough that they could keep their faces uncovered. They still weren't sure of where they were since the road they were on seemed to be lacking any and all markings. The food had run out two days before, and hunting has become harder with animals going to ground for the winter. Shadows were getting long on the ground and she had started scanning ahead for a suitable place to stop for the night when they heard music start up ahead of them. Morgan and Jane exchanged looks and began to run towards the sound. The road had a bend in it, and as they came around they saw a gated warehouse that looked to have been through quite the remodel. The gate had been thrown open, music was blaring and disco lights were flashing, and as they watched two men emerged from between two of the trailers, as a herd of undead gathered around them. They sprinted to a sedan, slashing at the undead in their way and dove in, shutting the doors just as the herd reached it. Morgan and Jane crouched low, taking refuge behind a Caddy parked just outside the fence.

"Looks like they could use a hand," Morgan said in a low voice. Jane nodded her agreement and peered around the bumper. Most of the herd had gathered around the car, but there seemed to be more on the driver's side, which was fortunate since the passenger side was facing the fence.

"Shouldn't be too difficult to clear a path to them. You head for the car, I'll stay behind you to keep it clear," she said as she pulled down her ski goggles and covered her mouth and nose with the bandana, then tugged her hood up to cover her hair. She had learned that it was easier to have them on when fighting because it kept the gore out of her face and her hair from being grabbed. "Let's go."

They crept around the car, moving quietly so as not to attract the attention of the undead until they were right on top of them. They got within 10 feet of the car before being noticed, but Morgan took the two that spotted them out with ease. He reached the car and smashed the head of the one in front of the door handle with his staff, blood and brains spattering the window before it fell to the ground. He flung open the door and the younger man leapt out, machete in hand, followed almost instantly by the second man. The four of them hightailed it to the fence, eliminating the six undead who had managed to give chase. The rest of the herd turned for them, but they were still on the other side of the car and unable to catch up. The man with the crossbow took down one with his knife before he swung the gate closed, Morgan and Jane slipping through just before the younger one latched it closed. He raised his crossbow and fired just in front of Morgan, taking down the lone undead that had managed to escape.

"That was-oh-thank you," the young man started, leaning over to catch his breath. He looked to be in his mid to late twenties, with brown curly hair cut short in the back and a little fuller on top, and a handsome face surrounding chocolate brown eyes. Morgan nodded as he began to wipe the blood from his staff. Crossbow was watching them, unsure what to make of his rescuers. "I'm Aaron, this is Daryl," he continued, indicating his companion.

"Morgan, and this is Jane," he replied. She tilted her head, taking a step towards Daryl. This man was a bit taller, his hair darker and longer, and his body full of lean muscle, but the set of his jaw, the shape of his eyes, the line of his nose matched her memories. And those two moles on his left cheek, that she had wanted to kiss more times than she could count. It couldn't be, could it?

"Why?" Daryl spat out.

"Why? Because all life is precious, Daryl."

Daryl looked at Morgan as if he thought the man made no sense and all the sense in the world, all at the same time.

"Who ever set that trap is coming. But I have good news. We do," Aaron corrected. "We have a community not too far from here. Walls, electricity, it's safe. If you'd like to come join us-"

"I thank you," Morgan said, cutting him off, " but we're on our way somewhere. Fact is, we're lost, so, if you could tell me where we are-" he stopped, pulling out the map and handing it to Daryl. As he took the map and unfolded it, she kept staring at him. There was no way this could be the same scrawny kid from all those years ago. His hair was hanging in his eyes, making them harder to see, but she knew as soon as he had spoken, that one word in that same voice. There was much more depth and pain since she had heard it last, but there was no doubt. She was rooted to the spot, her mind a whirlwind as Morgan and Daryl were discussing something about the map. She didn't hear any of it, she was lost in the tumbling emotions that sucked the breath out of her like a punch to the gut. He was more beautiful than she remembered, time had matured and deepened the rugged handsomeness of his dirty face, and his body had definitely matured as well. But it was his eyes that stopped her heart. There was a pain there, an almost haunted look, and she knew that she had helped cause it. How would he react when he realized who she was? Her vision blurred, and the last thing she heard was Morgan saying "Do you hear that Jane?" before everything went black.

When she came to, she was propped up and Morgan was pulling her pack off. She groaned at the searing pain in her skull.

"Jane, can you hear me?" Morgan said, the worry evident in his voice. She nodded and put out a hand. Morgan grabbed it and helped her up, a steadying hand on her arm.

Daryl strode up to her, their faced only inches apart, and growled, "You bit?" He had become anxious when she fainted, worried that they had just invited in someone who may turn out to be a problem.

She shook her head and pulled down the bandana to reply, "I'm fine Dixie." He froze, the wind sucked from his lungs as she pulled of the goggles and pushed her hood back. Only one person had called him that, and he thought she was long dead. But there she stood, ice blue eyes, that same constelation of freckles across her nose, and that red hair, now held back in a ponytail instead of the braid she had always sported. Her lips seemed fuller, and the full body of a goddess to match. Emotions rolled over him, warring with one another. Anger at her for leaving, disbelief that she was standing in front of him, but what won out was the overwhelming joy that she was alive. She stood there, tense, watching the war within him, unsure of what he would do.

With a clatter his crossbow fell to the ground and he flung his arms around her waist, burying his face in her neck. She relaxed and hugged him back, fingers twining through his hair, tears streaming down her face as his shoulders hitched in a sob and he breathed a single word, "Kitten."

"It's me. I'm here. It's gonna be ok," she whispered, her face pressed into his hair. All the familiar smells, everything inherently Daryl, assaulted her nostrils. She felt as if her heart was going to burst. They stood there, unable to let go, the rest of the world forgotten.

"I hate to break this up but we should go," Aaron said hesitantly. Daryl nodded and took a stabilizing breath, then broke away to pick up his forgotten crossbow. Aaron headed to the car with Morgan, and she scooped up her bag and turned to follow but he grabbed her hand and pulled her over towards his bike. Without a word he climbed on and started it up, then stood it upright and waited for her to climb on.

"Hold on," she said, and ran over to the car and handed Morgan her bag before bolting back, a 1000 watt smile spread across her face. She stepped on and swung her leg over, putting her hands on his shoulder for balance. As soon as she was seated, he handed her the crossbow and she slung it across her back, then she put her hands at his waist, and he dropped it in gear and took off, the Caddy lumbering along behind them. She was almost numb the entire ride as the cold air whipped over her, and she leaned against him, her arms wrapping around his torso. He brought his right hand down and placed it over hers, their fingers intertwining. Her heart beat faster at his touch, as if no time had passed, but the way they had left things made her unsure if the joy would last.

* * *

 _It was just after six when he appeared. She had been sitting on their rock, waiting for him to appear, just like always. He was behind her and she hadn't noticed him yet, so he stood watching her. Her hair was in a braid, like a line of fire snaking down her back. She had on a deep blue halter dress that shone against her fair skin, accentuating her budding breasts. The fabric was worn and was a size too small, but he knew she didn't have a whole lot to choose from. She was his rock, the one person he could show his innermost self to. Even in his pained state he couldn't help but notice how pretty she was. He shuffled up to her, his movements halting. She turned to look at him, knowing everything by the way his feet moved, but she was taken back when she saw his face._

 _"Tell me," she said, scooting over and patting the space next to her. He sat down gingerly as she turned to grab her bag, the one she always brought with her nowadays. His right eye was swollen and purple, blood covering the lower half of his face and soaked into the front of his shirt. She pulled out a clean towel and a bottle of water and gestured to him to remove his shirt. As he peeled it off, he gave a sharp cry as the dried blood on his back pulled away with the fabric, drawing fresh blood. He turned his back to her, where there was a long gash running from his the side of his ribcage to the base of his spine._

 _"I fought back this time," he mumbled through gritted teeth as she started to wipe away the blood. "Guess that wasn't too smart." She stayed quiet, gently cleaning the wound so she could look at it._

 _"This is gonna be bad when it heals. It's a lot deeper this time. I wish I knew how to do stitches," she said. Things were getting worse now that Merle was in juvie, and there was nothing she could do about it. She pulled some gauze and tape out along with some butterfly closures she had swiped from the medicine cabinet. She always made sure to only take some when her bag was getting low so her father wouldn't notice. She pulled the edges together as best she could, then covered it with gauze and tape. She leaned down and planted a gentle kiss on his bandaged back, her signal that she was finished. "There, now let me see the rest."_

 _He shifted slowly, turning until he was face to face with her. She used the now pink towel to clean the blood from his face, then pinched his chin, turning his head side to side to assess the damage._

 _"Well there's not much I can do with that eye, but it doesn't look like your nose is broke. You've got one hell of a fat lip though." She gave him a small smile, understanding in her blue eyes. Her dad was the same way, but he usually only beat on her mom. She leaned forward, cleaning the dried blood from his chest, one hand on his bare shoulder for balance. He caught a whiff of her hair, the smell of her shampoo faint in his nostrils. He had always loved that smell on her, but today it made him feel funny. He was feeling that way around her almost all the time now. He saw the freckles on her bare shoulders, sprinkled across her nose and cheeks, and had a sudden urge to touch them. His flesh tingled where her hand rested on his shoulder, and he felt a corresponding tingle in his groin. Why was he getting like that around her again? He looked down at her eyes, the long lashes almost brushing her cheeks when she closed her eyes. Another stirring down there made him shift, causing him to wince in a sudden flare of pain. She pulled her hands back when he did, worried that she had hit a tender spot._

 _"S'ok, wasn't you," he said quietly, "just moved wrong." She gave a smile and continued, noticing that even though he was still scrawny, his chest and arms had begun to fill out with muscle. She set the towel down, the last traces of blood wiped away, and just stared at his face. He wasn't handsome in the classical sense, but his features were pleasantly aligned._

 _"What?" he said, wondering why she was looking at him like that, and why he liked it so much._

 _"Just, ah, making sure I got everything," she replied as her cheeks turned crimson. "Let me see your lip." She pinched his chin and pulled it down, then used her thumb to roll his bottom lip out. They were like silk on her fingers, and her touch sent a jolt of electricity through him. "It seems to've stopped bleeding," she remarked, their faces mere inches from each other. She wondered what it would feel like if she kissed him, and before she lost her nerve she closed the gap and pressed her lips to his._

 _His eyes went wide and his breath caught in his throat. He had thought about this so often lately, but he had never imagined just how good it would feel. Before she could pull away, he put his hand on the back of her neck and kissed her back, his tongue sliding out just enough to touch her teeth. Her mouth opened wider, and their tongues met, gliding over each other. She let out a small moan, and his cock responded, straining against his denim jeans._

 _He broke away, leaning his forehead against hers. "We shouldn't do that." His breathing was shallow as he tried to steady himself._

 _"Alright." It was just that one word, but he could hear the rejection in it, her shoulders slumping. She turned away, but not before he saw the glisten of tears in her blue eyes. His heart sunk._

 _"It's just that I don't wanna mess this up," he stated softly. He stroked her arm with the back of his fingers. The last thing he had wanted to do was hurt her, but he knew that he had. She shrugged his hand off, her shoulders shaking in a silent sob. "Look at me," he pleaded, wishing he could take it back, "please Kitten."_

 _Even now she couldn't resist when he called her that. She turned to face him, and he was undone by the anger and hurt in her eyes. He leaned forward, ignoring the scream of agony in his back, and covered her mouth with his. He cradled her face in his hands, his lips moving over hers in desperation as his thumbs wiped the tears from her cheeks. She melted into him, the sensation of his lips on hers like lightning, sending shocks down her spine. She felt a warmth blossom in her belly, making her moan. She couldn't believe it. She had thought he didn't like her, not like that, but he was kissing her like he did. More than that, like he wanted her._

 _He slid his hands down her back, sending shivers across her bare skin. She touched his chest, feeling his pebbled nipples under the palms of her hands. She inched herself closer so that she was sitting sideways between his legs, the warm surface of rock on the backs of her thighs. He brought a hand to the nape of her neck, toying with the loose tendrils of hair, the other hand at the small of her back, pulling her into him. He kissed a path down her jawline to the tender spot behind her ear, his lips and tongue tracing a line of fire across her flesh._

 _"Do you want me to stop?" he asked, hoping she wouldn't. She felt better than any dream he had of her, dreams that had left him with a raging hard on when he woke._

 _"No, don't stop, I like it." She felt the dampness in her panties, an unknown yearning for more, but what she didn't know. All she knew was that if he stopped she would go crazy. She could feel his hard length on her hip as his hips pushed against her, and gathering her courage, she slipped her hand down to press on it. It was longer than her hand, and seemed almost as thick as her wrist, and when her fingers dragged across the straining fabric, he groaned in her ear._

 _"Oh, God Kitten, that feels so good." She shivered at his breath in her ear. He pulled at the ties on her dress, loosening the flimsy fabric that covered her breasts. He looked at her face, waiting for her protest, but the look he saw was the exact opposite. Her eyes were closed, lashes fluttering on her cheeks, mouth open just barely as if begging to be kissed. He willingly obliged, kissing her lips as if to devour her. He pulled the straps from her shoulders, baring her small breasts, cupping them in his hands. He gave them a gentle sqeeze, pinching her nipples and making her gasp at the pleasure. She fumbled at his waist, taking three tries to pop the button on his jeans before she could pull the zipper down. His boxers tented as his cock strained to be free of the restrictive clothes, as if begging to be touched. She complied and put a tentative finger on the tip, making it jerk in response._

 _Keeping a hand at her tits, he put his other hand on her thighs, his fingers moving up the inside. She moved her knee, spreading her legs for him. He touched the cotton covering her sex and noticed how wet it was. He pressed his middle finger down and could feel her slit, hot and pulsing on his fingertip. She rocked her hips involuntarily, her breathing became heavier, and he pressed harder, feeling that little nub of pleasure._

 _She was overcome with need at his touch, not even fully understanding it, but she wanted him naked, to see every inch of him bared to her. She moved to her knees and pushed at the waist of his jeans, desperate to remove them. He braced himself up on the rock and lifted his hips, allowing her to pull them down to his knees, the pain in his back almost forgotten. She reached back up and hooked his boxers, sliding them down around his engorged dick. She stared for a second, the sight of his manhood on display making her lick her lips with longing. She stood up, her dress pooling on the ground at her feet, and peeled off her panties. He took in her naked form, the pink areolas surrounding taut nipples, slightly rounded belly, and the patch of downy fire red hair on her mound._

 _She crawled on his lap, straddling him, and wrapped her arms around his neck. She kissed him, her tongue delving into him as she ground her hips, his shaft sliding inside her slit. He held her waist, moving in rhythm with her as she picked up speed. Instinct drove her, her juices flowing over them, when stars exploded behind her eyes, her core clenching in orgasm, making her shift a little farther backward. When she rocked forward, instead of gliding across her clit, his cock slid into her, stretching and filling her. She cried out in ecstasy, at the same time a shuddering groan escaped him. She was so tight he almost came, but the suprise had made her hold still for a breath. When she moved again, he pumped his hips, driving himself deeper inside her._

 _"Holy fuck," he growled, driving harder, desperate for release. "I didn't know it would feel like this." He slipped his hand between them and flicked her clit with his thumb, sending her over the edge just before him, her orgasm milking him for every drop. With a final shudder, she collapsed onto his shoulder, their breathing ragged. He kissed her neck where it met her shoulder, his hands moving lazily up and down her spine._

 _"Dixie," she murmured, her voice a breathy whisper in his ear._

 _"Hmmm..." he replied languidly._

 _"Thank you."_

 _"Anything for you, Kitten."_

 _They made love three more times that evening, exploring the depths of each other until well past dark. When she had realized the time she hurriedly got dressed and pack up her things. She gave him one last kiss and told him she'd see him tomorrow. It was the last time they would see each other for 20 years._

* * *

 **Thanks for the positive reviews! Hope you're still enjoying the story. The next few chapters are gonna be kinda dirty, but there's a reason, I promise. Things will probably start to move slower now that they're reunited. I'll try not to take too many liberties with the timetable, but some things will be adjusted to fit my story better.**


	5. Chapter 5

**If you haven't seen season 6 yet then read at your own risk!**

* * *

Chapter 5

They arrived at the walls of Alexandria after dark. Daryl pulled up to the gate, and someone must have seen them coming because it opened immediately. He rolled the bike through and pulled off to the side, cutting the engine. She climbed off, then handed him his crossbow once he had done the same. Their fingers brushed, sending a shock through them both. He saw her flush, her pink cheeks making the freckles stand out in the moonlight. The Caddy pulled in behind them, and the moment was gone, while the man at the gate closed and latched it behind them. He ran up to Aaron as he was climbing out of the car. He was anxious, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"There's been trouble. Everyone's at the meeting. C'mon," he spat out, then took off into the town at a brisk walk.

Daryl glanced at Aaron, a worried look on his face. "What the hell's he talking about?"

Aaron shook his head and followed the man, with Daryl on his heels. Morgan handed her her pack and they moved to follow. As Morgan hurried to catch up, she hung back, that sense that things were about to go sideways upon her again. Daryl realized that she had fallen back and ran back to get her.

"It's all right. You're safe here," he told her, taking her hand when he saw the look of dread on her face.

"Ok," she replied softly, but she couldn't shake that feeling of wrongness again, the same way it felt before she heard that tank. It was never wrong, but she hoped that it was just a combination of nerves at being in a camp and joy at finding Daryl.

They arrived at a gathering of people just in time to see all hell break loose. There was a woman on the ground cradling a man's lifeless body in her lap. She was crying, mumbling "My love" over and over. A man was being held to the ground, screaming "This is him! This is him!" The woman looked up at a dirty bloody man standing next to her and growled, "Rick...do it."

Without any hesitation the man pulled his gun from it's holster, aimed it at the man being held on the ground and pulled the trigger as a few of the women screamed in terror and disbelief.

"Rick?" Morgan said in disbelief. The man with the gun looked up at hearing his name, and seemed to come to his senses at seeing his old friend. They stared at each other, Morgan reluctant to believe that this was the same man. As if a spell had been broken, chaos erupted in the group gathered around the fire as some of the men began to shout, while others struggled to get away. She wrenched her hand from Daryl and backed away. Her chest was tight, her breath coming in ragged gasps, she had to get away, she couldn't watch as another place was torn apart. Panic was on her full bore, she struggled to pull air into her lungs as she staggered away, her fingers clawing at the fabric of her clothes. She kept moving, dark spots floating in front of her eyes, desperate to escape.

Daryl was torn, the people at the meeting had continued shouting, Rick and others were shouting back and Daryl could see that it would come to blows any second. But he needed to find her, make sure she was ok. He turned to Morgan and grabbed his arm.

"Follow her, make sure she's alright. I gotta try to shut this down." He knew that if shit hit the fan then no one would be safe.

Morgan nodded and went after her. By the time he caught up to her, she had collapsed on her side in a yard, on the verge of blacking out. She continued to claw at her chest, the pain like a vice, crushing her. She felt as if she were deep underwater, her body being crushed.

"Jane! What is it? Are you hurt?" The concern in his voice allowed her to gain a moment of focus.

"Can't...breathe...hurts," she wheezed, slapping at her chest. He suddenly realized what was wrong, a full blown panic attack.

"Ok, you're ok, just look at me, listen to my voice," he said, making his words calm and sure. He grabbed her hands and held them still, and kept talking. "You're safe, nothing is gonna hurt you, I'm right here with you. Keep looking at me, listen to me, one two three for five, five four three two one." He continued counting, up and back from five, keeping a gentle rhythm. She did as he said, concentrating on his lips as they moved. Slowly the tightness in her chest abated, her breathing less erratic, and he could feel her arms relax under his hands. He kept counting, almost like a mild hypnosis, for almost three minutes, until her breathing was back to normal.

"Doin ok now?" he asked gently.

"Yeah, thank you. How did you do that?" She laid on the ground, not willing to get up just yet.

"My wife used to get them. It was the only thing that worked for her." He smiled sadly at the memory. "Think you can get up?"

She nodded, and he stood and offered her his hand. She took it gratefully and pulled herself up slowly, her legs still shaky. She leaned on his arm and took a slow breath.

"I'd almost forgotten how terrifying those are," she said, shaking her head. "I thought I was over em."

"How long have you had them?"

"On and off for the past 10 years or so. This is the first one since the apocalypse. That's why I figured they were gone. If a zombie apocalypse doesn't induce one, what on earth could?" she said with a chuckle. "So, it's gonna come out now anyway, and I owe you another thanks for not pushing the issue. My real name is Cat, Cat Mason."

"Well, Cat, it's nice to make your aquaintence," he smirked, as he held her up. "You know, it's gonna take me a while to get used to that." He put his arm around her waist and turned to guide her back..

At that moment Daryl had been heading towards them when he saw the exchange. It stopped him cold as anger welled up inside him. He knew he had no claim to her, but seeing her being touched by another man was more than he could take. He envisioned walking over and throttling Morgan. He held his composure as he closed the gap between them..

"Most everyone's gone. Rick says come over." His words were clipped and practically dripping venom. He spun on his heel and stomped back towards the fire.

His actions took her by surprise. He had been so elated at seeing her, but now it was as if he wanted her gone. Tears stung her eyes, and she silently cursed him for having so much sway over her still. She and Morgan followed Daryl back to the fire, still leaning on him for balance, where Rick was waiting. Daryl hung back, shooting daggers at them both with his eyes.

"Morgan," Rick said, holding out his hand, "I'm sorry you had to see that. There's an explanation for all of it."

Morgan took his hand, but seemed unsure. "If you say so."

Rick turned to her. "You must be Jane." He eyed her warily, trying to discern how and where she fit into all of it.

"Actually, my name is Cat Mason. I told Morgan my name was Jane because there's alot of issues with my real name. My own issues," she added quickly when she saw a look of distrust cross Rick's face.

"I see." Rick looked around, trying to decide the next steps. He asked a tank of a redhead to remove the bodies while he dealt with the new people.

Morgan gave her a questioning look, and she nodded, slipping from his grasp to stand on her own. "I'm alright now."

Daryl watched the exchange uncomfortably. How could she still make him feel like this after all she had done to him? His emotions were all jumbled up inside, and he hated it. He turned on his heel and stormed away quietly. Cat had been watching him out of the corner of her eye during the exchange. She saw the war of emotions raging inside him. She wanted to run up and take him in her arms, soothe his fears and frustrations, but she knew he needed space to work things out. And she did too. She was over the moon that he was in her life again, but the years between their last night and now had scarred her deeply, and all the fears and insecurities came roaring back on her. She didn't want him to see her this way. She had been his rock, and she couldn't be that when she was like this. She watched him leave, longing to go after him, but she stayed put.

Rick saw Cat watching Daryl, and Daryl watching her, and knew instinctively that there was history there. Aaron had told him of their exchange on the road, and the cop in him needed to find answers. He decided to start digging in the morning.

"Come on, let's go." He started off, leading them to his house. She was lost in her own thoughts, Rick and Morgan talking low as they walked ahead of her. Most of the houses they passed were dark, but scattered throughout she could see a porch light on, or an interior light shining through a window. The street itself was dark, only the light of a half moon guiding them. It was strange to her, all this seeming normalcy in the midst of chaos. There was an undercurrent, however, of tension and fear. She had sensed it at the meeting, and she wondered at the events that had led up to the shooting. Her first impression of Rick was not good, and it clashed with the picture that Morgan had painted of him. It only took a couple minutes to reach Rick's house, where they went inside and into the kitchen. Daryl was sitting at an island bar, slurping down a bowl of soup.

Rick filled two bowls and gave them to Morgan and Cat. "Here, eat. Then you can get some rest." He started to walk away, but something caught his eye. It was the map Abraham had given him. Daryl had hung onto it. He had laid it on the table when he had come in.

Morgan turned to him and gave a low chuckle. " You were right. It wasn't over. "

Rick turned around and replied, " We should talk more tomorrow. Listen, I don't take chances anymore."

"And you shouldn't. " Morgan understood what Rick meant. "We don't have to stay here."

Rick paused, unsure what to do. He wanted to keep an eye on them, but he was uncomfortable with them under the same roof as Carl and Judith. The he remembered the house Michonne had put him in after the fight with Pete. "I know what to do."

When they finished eating, Rick took them across the street to a two story townhouse with a wrap around porch and climbed the half dozen steps to the door. He opened the front door to reveal a security screen door that had been hung. Rick unlocked it and led them inside. He located a switch and the room was bathed in soft yellow light, displaying an unfinished room. It was an open floor plan, with a living room to the left, and dining area on the right which lead to a modern kitchen. Directly in front of them were stairs leading to the second floor. The walls were still unpainted, and they could see the patches of mud on the drywall seams. There was the gleam of metal in the darkened kitchen, and it looked like there were appliances installed.

"This house isn't finished like the others, but I want you close by. The lights all work, and there's hot running water. I'll be by in the morning and we can talk."

"Thank you, Rick. We'll see you in the morning," Morgan replied, following Rick back to the door. They shook hands again, and Rick headed out, locking the door behind him. Morgan turned around and blew out a long breath before shrugging off his pack and setting down his staff. She watched him, wondering what he made of everything. "Well, let's see what's upstairs. I think tomorrow is gonna be a long day."

"Alright, then." They headed upstairs, where they found three bedrooms, also unfinished, but there was a bare mattress on the floor of the two smaller rooms. Morgan took the smallest bedroom, situated on the front of the house above the living room, and bid her goodnight, closing the door behind him. She could tell he needed to be alone, and she left him and went to the other front bedroom. There was a bathroom in between them, with a door for each room on either end. The window sat just above the roof of the porch, which had a gentle slope to it. She took off her pack and set it down, then plopped on the edge of the mattress. She sat unmoving, hands around her knees, unsure what to do with herself. She was bone tired, but she knew the nightmares were waiting, ready to plague her. She grabbed her bag and tore it open. If there were any night to be high, she decided, tonight was it. She pulled out her bowl and packed it, then opened the window and climbed through. She sat down and sparked up, taking a deep drag and holding it in, let the feeling of relaxation wash over her.

Across the street, Daryl sat on the darkened porch cleaning his crossbow. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and sat watching as she climbed out the window and sat down. He saw the spark of flame, then the glow of what appeared to be a small glass bowl. It shocked him, she had never shown interest in getting high when they had known each other, but then again neither had he. Now he wanted nothing more than to go over and join her, but he couldn't bring himself to get up. He studied her, watching as she took another drag, then closed her eyes and slowly released the smoke. He wanted her, there was no denying it, but she had broken him when she left. He wasn't going to let her do it again.

He was startled as Rick came out the door, and went back to cleaning his crossbow. Ever observant, Rick had caught Daryl watching her and smirked. He sat down on the steps next to him and watched as she climbed back through the window and closed it before he spoke.

"So what's the deal there?" Rick ased, pointing towards the house across the street.

"Nuthin," Daryl remarked, putting the crossbow down and pulling a cigarette stub from his pocket. He lit it and added, "Just knew each other from before. We were kids."

"Ok," Rick said with a shrug. He knew there was more, but didn't push it. Daryl would just shut down if he did.

"You did the right thing. He needed put down," Daryl said, changing the subject. "Any man who puts his hands on a woman don't deserve to live."

Rick nodded in agreement. "It's a shame about Reg. He was a good man."

"It ain't right. Puttin em in there," Daryl stated quietly.

"They'll be alright. It was his idea," Rick retorted.

"Still a cell," Daryl mumbled. They had saved his life. He didn't understand Rick's complete distrust, but he let it go for the moment.

Rick stood up, putting his hand on Daryl's shoulder. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow is gonna be a long one." Rick headed in the house, leaving Daryl alone with his thoughts.

"Yeah, it is."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

 _564 hes alive! dixies alive its unreal hes been with morgans friend rick i dont know what to feel what to do my heads reeling i wanna grab him an never let go but i think he hates me for what i did i should have gone back ran away and gone back to him he wouldve helped it wasnt my fault i know that now why was i so stupid_

Cat slammed her notebook closed and flung it across the room, tears stinging her eyes. She pressed the heels of her hands on them, willing them away. There would be time for that later. She had barely slept last night, between her roiling emotions over Daryl, her earlier panic attack and her unfamiliar surroundings she spent most of the night staring at the ceiling. When she had slept it was fitful, full of nightmares.

As the first hints of light graced the morning sky, she gave up her fruitless effort and climbed out of bed. Dressed in a white tank top and purple panties, she dug through her bag and pulled out her last clean clothes. She heard movement from Morgan's room as he headed to the shared bathroom, so she gathered up her clothes and toiletries left her room in search of another bathroom.

The master bedroom was in the back and just as unfinished as the rest of the house, but the master bath was another story. It was quite lavish, with two sinks, a toilet with walls on either side for privacy, and a huge walk-in shower with dual shower heads and glass doors. The tile was done in tones of brown, the shower had the large 12 inch tiles, with a marbled effect, the same marbled look on the sink vanities, and the floor had a muted brown color tile.

She turned on the water and stripped her clothes off. She stepped in, the hot water soothing on her aching muscles. She stood there, allowing the water to run over her body, soaking into every inch of her. She watched as the warm liquid sluiced the dirt and blood from her skin, slowly revealing the freckles that covered her.

With the water running, she didn't hear Rick and Daryl come in to see how they were doing. Morgan was already dressed, having showered the night before, and was in the living room practicing his different moves with his staff.

"Do me a favor and go find Cat. I wanna catch up with Morgan before we get into things." Rick smiled inwardly, because he was only using catching up as a reason to force Daryl to talk to Cat. He was curious what would happen.

"A'ight," Daryl sighed. He really didn't want to see her, but at the same time his heart skipped a beat when Rick had asked Daryl to join him. He climbed the steps, and when he got to the top he could hear water running. He followed the sound through the back bedroom door, but before he could say anything he was greeted with a full view of her wet naked body. The bathroom door hadn't been hung,

She was glorious. She stood under the stream of water, turned sideways to him, hands scrubbing her lathered hair. Her breasts were much larger now, but still that creamy fairness, taut nipples poking from pink discs. She was full figured, all soft curves made for squeezing. Her belly was rounded slightly, and her ass seemed to go on for days. He wondered what it would be like to have those thick thighs wrapped around his head while he ate her out. His cock pushed against his jeans, and he contemplated climbing in with her clothes and all, but when she turned her back to him he felt as if someone had punched him in the gut. From her shoulders to her hips she was covered in hundreds of small round scars. Someone had used her as a human ashtray for years by the look of it. He felt a blinding rage grip him, and he swiftly turned on his heels and bolted from the room. He needed to kill, destroy, annihilate something, anything. He ran down the stairs, taking them two at a time, and wrenched the front door open and was gone without a word to Rick or Morgan.

Rick and Morgan stared in shock at the front door, neither of them could imagine what had driven Daryl from the house like he was on fire. Then a thought came to Rick, and he took off up the stairs.

"CAT! CAT! WHERE ARE YOU?!" He was screaming at the top of his lungs, worry eating away at him like a walker.

She came running out of the bedroom wrapped in a towel, shampoo still in her hair, panic written all over her face. "I'm here! What is it?!"

Rick screeched to a halt, relief spreading over his face. "What happened up here? Why did Daryl take off like his hair was on fire?"

"What are you talking about? I was in the shower. Why was Daryl up here?" Her mind raced, not understanding what had happened.

Now Rick was confused, and glanced back at Morgan who had just reached the top step. "What the hell..."

"I'm not sure what's going on, but he took off towards the gate, and I think I heard his bike start up," Morgan said. When Rick had taken off upstairs he had gone outside to see if he could spot Daryl.

"How did he look when he left?" she asked, a thought forming in her head.

"Ready to kill. I've seen him angry before, but never on this level." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other as if deciding what to do. "I should go after him," Rick said, turning to head down the stairs after his best friend.

"Don't. I've seen him like that. It's best to leave him be, let him work it out. He'll be back when he's ready." She cringed at the memory, how he had been almost blind to who she was as he lashed out.

"Alright. I'll give him til this evening. If he's not back by then I'll start a search." Suddenly he realized she was still standing there in nothing but a towel, and he turned red all over. "I'll, uh, let you finish up." Rick could see why Daryl seemed so out of sorts around her. He turned around and headed back downstairs with Morgan.

She went back in the bedroom and closed the door, and that's when it hit her. She remembered closing the door when she had come in, but when she heard Rick calling her just now and she came running out, the door had been open. Daryl had come in looking for her, and gotten quite an eyeful. She was willing to bet her life that her back was what set him off. That was not how she had wanted him to find out, without any background as to how or why. She climbed back in the shower and hurriedly finished washing, the shower no longer enjoyable, then got out and dried off, wrapping her hair in the towel to dry.

She got dressed, donning a pair of tight black jeans that accentuated her ample curves, another long sleeve undershirt in white this time, and a dark blue flannel this time. She padded back to her room, pulled on her socks and boots, then unwrapped her hair, laying the towel over her shoulders to keep her clothes dry. She took her comb from the bag and headed downstairs as she started to work the knots from her hair. Rick was still puzzling over Daryl's departure, but Morgan had gone back to his staff.

"What the hell could've set him off like that?" Rick asked when he saw her. "Losing the prison, Terminus, Beth, none of that brought him anywhere close to that level."

Cat started at the mention of the prison and Terminus. "Prison? West Georgia Correctional?"

"Yeah. How'd you know that?" Rick asked, his suspicion rising.

"You were attacked by a tank, weren't you?" She shuddered, knowing the answer. Then it dawned on her, and she slumped to the floor. Daryl had been there, so close, if only she hadn't been so afraid.

"How do you know that?" Rick asked her again. " Were you with the Governor?!" His anger rose as he stalked over to her, his hand gripping the butt of his gun.

"Who? No, I wasn't with anyone," she replied. "I was on the road, had passed the prison, giving it a wide berth because I could hear people there. You and your group apparently. Later that day I passed another camp, they had a tank. It gave me a bad feeling so I swung wide to avoid them, which sent me back towards the prison. The next day I had this sinking feeling that something was gonna happen, and I tried to get as far away as possible, but that night," she shook her head at the memory. "I heard it, the explosions, the firefight..."

Rick relaxed at that. If she had been a part of the Governor's group, he might have killed her on the spot.

"Terminus? That was you as well?" Morgan asked. He wasn't surprised when Rick nodded in ascent.

"Alot has happened since we saw each other last. We don't take chances anymore," he said, indicating their confinement. "Let's eat. I'll fill you in." The three of them headed to the kitchen, where she saw that Rick had brought a small assortment of food to choose from. Dry cereal, oatmeal packets, instant coffee, tea bags, and six apples. They were bright red, the most beautiful thing she has seen in months. She grabbed one and a packet of oatmeal, sinking her teeth into the sweet flesh. She spied a kettle on the stove and filled it with water to heat for the oatmeal. Even the oatmeal was her favorite, maple brown sugar flavor. Morgan and Rick each took an apple, Morgan prepping a cup of coffee while the water heated. Once the kettle started to whistle, she pulled it off and poured water for herself and Morgan. She held up the kettle to Rick, silently asking if he needed any, but he waved it off. She set the kettle back down and joined the men at the table.

Rick proceeded to tell them what had happened since he last saw Morgan. The fighting with Woodbury, taking in their survivors after the Governor disappeared. How Rick laid down his gun to become a farmer, then picked it back up after disease took out alot of the camp. How the Governor came back and destroyed it all. Terminus, Father Gabriel, their trek north. He told them everything he could remember. He wanted Morgan to understand.

He told them about Alexandria, how things worked, his fears about their naivete, and all that had happened with Pete that led to the night before. When he finished he looked drained, as if seeing for the first time how much he had endured. "It feels like no matter how hard I try, things just keep going bad. I'm not sure if I know how to hope anymore." Rick had never admitted that before, even to himself, but telling Morgan and Cat seemed to lift a weight from his chest.

"Things will always be hard in this world Rick. But without hope we die. In here," he said, tapping his chest. "You are still a good man, Rick Grimes."

Rick gave a small nod, then glanced at his watch. Almost three hours had passed since they had sat down. "I need to talk to Deanna, see how she's holding up. I'll have Carol bring some lunch for you. Then I'll be back and we can go from there." They all got up from the table, and Morgan walked Rick to the door while she cleared the dishes.

She thought of all the things Rick had told them as she washed up. She had her demons, but they had been through more than she could ever imagine. She could see now that Rick was a good man as Morgan had said, he just seemed to be stumbling as of late. It sounded like if it hadn't been for Daryl, Rick might have gone off the rails a long time ago. Cat hoped her presence wouldn't change that by sending Daryl askew.

"You missed our sparring session this morning. You goin soft on me now?" Morgan quipped, interrupting her thoughts.

"Yup. I'm hanging up my bow. Gonna get a job in finance," she retorted, but was unable to keep a straight face.

"If you do as well in finance as you do cooking groundhog, I think I'll do my own taxes this year," he shot back with a laugh.

"It was one time!" She flung her hand at him, bubbles flying harmlessly off her fingers. There was a knock at the door, so Morgan went back out to answer it while she finished the last dish and dried her hands off.

"Hi. I brought you some lunch," Cat heard from the other room. The voice was soft, but she could hear a rough edge to it, a forced sincerity.

"Come on in," Morgan replied. "Kitchen's through there."

A tall skinny woman with short greying hair walked in carrying a box of food. "Hello there," she said as she set the box on the table. "I'm Carol." She walked over to Cat holding out her hand. Cat shook it, feeling the callouses on the woman's hands.

"Cat Mason." She could feel the woman studying her, trying to determine if she was a threat. Then she turned and introduced herself to Morgan.

"It's not much, just some soup and stale crackers, but it'll do." Carol turned back to Cat. "I saw you come in with Daryl last night, but then you took off. Everything alright?" Her tone was light, but Cat heard the underlying questions in there. She must have noticed them holding hands when they had first walked up.

"Yeah, I'm ok." Cat decided that truth was best with Carol. "I had a panic attack. Haven't had one in a few years and it caught me off guard. Morgan helped me out, though."

"I used to get those," Carol said in reply. Cat could feel her not quite mistrust, maybe hesitation, with her. She wondered if it had to do with Daryl, or just that she was new and unknown, or both. Finally Carol gave a nod and smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. " I'm glad you're feeling better. Well, I'll get out of your hair, got lots to do. We'll sit down and chat soon. Enjoy your lunch!" With that she was gone, closing the door behind her.

"She's, what's the word I'm looking for, shrewd," Cat commented. "I think there's more to her than just the quiet friendly neighbor act she's got goin on."

"She's definitely observant. She may be the only other one besides Rick to notice you and Daryl." Morgan paused and gave her a knowing look. "Is he the friend from Georgia?"

"He is." Her good mood soured slightly thinking of him. "I don't know..." she sighed, slumping in a chair and resting her head in her arms.

"Wanna talk about it over lunch? We may as well eat while we've got the chance." She bobbed her head, and Morgan set to work warming the soups. "So tell me about him."

Cat raised her head and slumped back in the chair. "Where do I start? We were best friends for eight years, then one day I was gone. No notice, no goodbye, nothing. He must hate me, and I wouldn't blame him. There's a lot of history between us, and even more that he doesn't know. I wanna tell him, everything, even if it means I never see him again. I'm terrified. I never thought I'd see him again, let alone have a chance to explain everything. I can see the hurt I've caused, but then I see something else..." she trailed off, not sure how to express what she had seen.

"He loves you. I could see it the moment he saw you. Whatever else is there, underneath it is love."

She teared up at that. "I hope you're right. It's driving me crazy right now. I can take it if he doesn't want me around, as long as he knows the truth. He's been lost to me all these years, now he's right here and I feel like it's pulled us farther apart. And we've barely said two words to each other!" She had been rambling, her mind whirling with too many emotions and worries.

"Here, eat," Morgan said as he placed a bowl of hot chicken noodle soup in front of her with some crackers. He set his own down and joined her. "Things have a way of working out. It sounds like you both have some things to work through on your own first. Maybe after you eat go up and start scribbling in your book. It'll help get your head in order when you can see it."

"Yeah, I guess I am a bit of a mess," she chuckled. "This is all your fault, you know. If you would have just left me on the side of the road, I could be on my way to Jamaica or somethin."

Morgan laughed at that, and she felt a little lighter as they ate.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

 _so here i am trying to figure myself out. how do i feel jeez this sucks I don't know_

She rolled her eyes and flopped back on the mattress. She hated confronting her feelings. It was easier to just push it all down, pretend it wasn't there. She wished Daryl was there, he had been her calm, her island amidst a raging sea. Now he was the reason for all her turmoil. She let out a groan, then rolled over and pulled out the little glass bowl from her bag. She sat looking at it, twirling it in her fingers as she debated whether she really wanted it or not. No, she decided, it wasn't a crutch. She packed it away again and went back to her notebook.

 _try this again. i shouldve gone back why was i such a coward he woulda forgiven me then. now i dont know its been too long. morgan says he loves me but i cant think that if he does now and changes his mind when he hears the truth i couldnt bear it. better to think that hes just willing to hear me out. i just want my best friend back why does it have to be so hard? Fuck! this is all marks fault god i could kill him again for doing this to me. shoulda done it that night. why couldn't that bastard just leave me alone i hate him for what he did i lost daryl because of him the only true friend i ever had_

She broke down then, tears rolling down her cheeks, her body wracked by sobs. She was finally starting to grieve. For Daryl, for her mother, the life she should've had, the life she did have. Seeing Daryl had cracked the wall she had built to contain her grief, and writing out her misery made it tumble down, and it came pouring out of her in torrents. For almost an hour she cried, laying on the bed hugging her knees. When her sobs finally eased, her breath no longer hitching, she realized she felt different. Not quite whole, she had only know that feeling with Daryl, but close, as if she had gained back a part of herself that had been lost all those years ago.

She wiped her eyes, got up and went into the bathroom. She turned on the faucet, still stunned that anything came out, and splashed cold water on her face. She took a couple deep breaths, trying to puzzle out what she had been missing. She let out a laugh as it came to her: her strength. That piece of her that let her stand up to injustice, to refuse to let anyone sway her from what she knew was right. She had shut down that first night, her mind refusing to comprehend what was happening, and it had been smothered, buried under the weight of her grief and guilt. It hadn't left her completely, there had been just enough left smoldering to keep her alive through the years. Now that she had shed her long held tears, it came roaring to life like gasoline on a fire. She shut off the water and was about to head down the stairs when she heard a motorcycle pulling up.

* * *

As soon as he went out the door, Daryl had jumped on his bike and took off outside the walls. He was itching for a fight, and he soon got it when he came across a small herd of walkers. They came towards him, teeth gnashing, arms reaching for him, growling and snarling at the promise of food. He got off the bike and let them come, waiting until they were almost on top of him, his body a bundle of nerves steeled for battle. With a primal scream he attacked, becoming a whirling dervish as he took down one walker after another. They dropped like flies before him, until he was standing in a ring of fallen walkers, breath rasping in his throat.

He looked around as the fog of rage lifted, and dropped to his knees, sobbing. His heart ached when he thought of those scars. He understood that what she had gone through to get them could not have been good. She didn't deserve that. He should've protected her, been there for her, but she had left him. In that moment he hated her for leaving, but in the next he was relieved that she was back in his life. He wanted to grab her, shake her, hug her, never let her go.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts, pushing all the unwanted emotions back down, trying to bury them. He closed his eyes and another image came to him unbidden, her body in the shower, water streaming down her fair skin. He groaned with desire as he imagined running his hands over her, feeling the muscles that lay beneath her soft yeilding flesh. His cock responded, twitching against the cotton of his boxer-briefs as it grew hard. He wanted to take a pink nipple in his mouth and suckle it until it was a hard little pebble, making her moan. He thought of her sex, covered in fine red hair, slipping a finger in her slit to find her wet with desire. Desperate for relief, he unzipped his pants and pulled out his raging hard-on, stroking it as the images came faster. Her panting and squirming as he flicked her clit, his fingers inside her. Pinching her nipples until she screamed. His hand moved faster, his tip leaking precum, making his hand glide over his stiff rod. He saw himself slamming his dick in her, feeling her moist heat wrap around him, squeezing him as he made her cum. His grip tightened, on the verge of release, pumping his hand furiously. He saw her face, her lips full and pink, eyes the blue of a glacier, the freckles across her cheeks and nose. He came hard, his seed spilling onto the pavement as he let out a moan.

When he opened his eyes, he remembered where he was and quickly tucked his softening member back in his pants and stood up. His head wasn't any clearer about what to do, but he was calmer. He climbed on his bike and headed back, wondering how he was gonna explain his sudden disappearance.

As he pulled up in front of the house, he saw her standing on the porch across the street. She was leaning against the post, waiting for him. He climbed off the bike and made his way over, stopping on the step below her. His eyes were downcast, unable to look at her.

"Hi Dixie," she said quietly. There was something different in her voice. She sounded more like the girl he used to know. He looked up at her, and she was smiling.

"Hi Kitten." He couldn't help but smile back. There was definitely a change. Just the way she carried herself, like an anchor that had dragged at her was gone.

"C'mon, let's go in," she said with a jerk of her head. He climbed the last step to follow, but before she moved, she flung her arms around his neck. He stood there in shock for a second, unsure of what to do. She held him, uncaring whether or not he hugged her back. Suddenly she felt him relax, his arms coming around her waist. He was filthy, covered in dirt and sweat and gore, and she didn't care. She had needed to feel him, hold him in her arms at least one more time. Slowly she broke away, taking his hand and leading him inside.

The only furniture was the kitchen table, so they went in and sat down, hands still intertwined. It was as if once the connection had been made neither one wanted to let go. She spotted a note on the table from Morgan, saying he was out with Rick. She realized that they were truly alone, and she passed the note to Daryl so he would know as well.

"So I guess you've seen them," she blurted out, breaking the silence.

He turned red in the face. "Yeah. It was an accident. Wasn't spyin or nothin," he mumbled. He shook his head as the anger started to well up again. "How?"

"Mark, my...father," she grated out. She hated calling him that. "You need to hear, all of it. It's gonna hurt."

He took a breath. He had always assumed that their last night together had been planned, she had known she was leaving and couldn't tell him. He had hated her for a long time for that. Now he wasn't so sure. "Ok. Let's hear it."

"I never wanted to leave you. If I had known what was gonna happen, I would've never left you that night. I know you hate me for it, and if you still do after I'll understand." She took another breath and dived in. "When I got home, I found him and my mom in the kitchen..."

* * *

 _She walked in the front door, knowing she would catch hell and not caring. But what she saw stopped her in her tracks. Her mom was lying on the kitchen floor, a pool of blood spreading out from beneath her, staining her simple floral dress. Her father was towering over her, a bloody knife in his hand and a look of pure rage on his face. The sound of the screen door closing made him snap his head around. When he saw her, he stomped over to her before she could move and grabbed the back of her neck in a vicelike grip._

 _"You see what you've done?! Lookit what you've made me do, you and your whore mother!" He was shouting, and the alcohol on his breath hit her like a wall._

 _"Mama!" she wailed, tears streaming down her face, and she tore herself away and ran to her, cradling her lifeless head in her lap. He snatched her up by the arm and spun her around to face him._

 _"You are gonna clean this up, then you're gonna pack up your stuff. We're leavin." He swung his hand out, backhanding her across the cheek. Her lip split open, dripping fresh blood on her dress. "Get movin! There better not be a drop left when you're done!"_

 _She moved robotically, her brain shut down, as she got a bucket of water and a rag to start cleaning. Her father left to the bathroom and returned with the shower curtain. He laid it on the cheap linoleum and rolled her mother onto it. He scooped the body up and stumbled out the front door. She could hear him open the trunk and dump her in unceremoniously. She started crying even harder, and when he came back in and saw her, he grabbed her by the hair._

 _"If you don't stop cryin and get this cleaned up I'ma call the cops an tell em what you done," he sneered. "They'll lock you up with all the other murderers where they'll rape you for killin your Mama."_

 _After hearing him belittle them both all her life, watching as he beat her, telling her it was her fault, she believed him. She wanted to run, to find Daryl, he would know what to do, but she just cowered in front of her father. She had seen too many times what would happen when her mother had tried to escape. He slapped her again and threw her head towards the floor. "Get to cleanin."_

 _He moved to the bedrooms, and as she mopped up her mother's blood, she could hear him tearing open drawers, stuffing clothes into whatever bags he could find. At one point she heard him laugh drunkenly, muttering "Stupid little bitch, thought you could hide money from me."_

 _He passed by her three times, carrying the bags he had packed to the car. As she dumped the bucket of red water down the sink, he came back carrying the jar of money her Mama had been saving, her run away stash._

 _"Let's go, in the car." He shoved her through the door and slammed it behind them. She climbed in the backseat and put her seatbelt on. This wasn't her first trip with him drunk behind the wheel, and she knew it would be another white knuckle ride this night._

 _They drove for hours, she would doze off only to be woken when he would jerk the wheel back into his lane. She prayed for a cop to pull him over, but her prayers went unanswered, and she eventually succumbed to sleep just before dawn. When she woke it was 11am and they were pulling into a rest stop. She sretched her cramped muscles and as soon as the engine cut off she reached for the door handle, but before she could open the door he grabbed her wrist, making her bones grind together._

 _"Remember, you say one word and you'll be in jail faster than you can blink," he snarled. She nodded her head and he let her go. While she was in the bathroom relieving herself, she wondered if she could just stay in there and he would leave her behind, or trying to get to a pay phone while he was distracted. But she had no one she could call since Daryl didn't have a phone. She hung her head, tears threatening to spill, but she blinked them away and steeled herself. She washed her hands and went back to the car. He tossed her a water and a half eaten pack of donuts as she climbed back in._

 _"Here, eat something."_

 _The rest of the day was a blur of driving and the occasional rest stop. She slept alot, trying to forget it all, but she couldn't forget one stop. Just after midnight they were driving down a backroad through rural Pennsylvania when he suddenly pulled over and climbed out. She was still half asleep when she heard him open the trunk. Her eyes shot open and turned around in her seat to see him pulling her mother's body from the trunk, carry it behind the car about 10 yards, then dump it over the side of a bridge._

"We finally stopped in Parrish New York, a tiny little hole-in-the-wall town upstate. When I turned 18 I left and never looked back."

As she told her story, Daryl had grown angrier, pacing the kitchen as she talked. Angry that she'd had to go through that, that her father had done it, most of all that he hadn't been able to protect her. One question burned through all of it.

"Why didn't you come back once you left?" he yelled, unable to stop himself.

"I was scared. I thought you must have hated me for leaving, and if you didn't you would have."

"What do you mean?"

She took another breath, biting her bottom lip. This was the part she dreaded telling him. "Once we got there, he beat on me almost daily. I had become his replacement for Mama. My stomach was his favorite place to hit me, cause it was easier to hide the bruises. We'd been there about two months when I woke one morning with really bad pains in my belly. When I went to the bathroom there was blood, lots of it. I screamed, not knowing what was going on, and he came stumbling in half drunk demanding to know what was wrong. When I finally told him he got a creepy grin on his face and told me that I was a woman now. He told me that when I stopped bleeding he'd show me what that meant."

Daryl seethed at that, not wanting to understand. He closed his eyes and whispered through gritted teeth, "Are you tellin me he raped you?" Daryl stood stock still, his hands balled into fists, the cords of his neck standing out as she replied.

"Yes. For four years he used me. That's how I got the scars. He would always take me from behind, and he would put his cigarette out on my back when he came. Every spot was like a notch on his belt." Cat stopped and looked at Daryl. He was bent over the sink, his knuckles white as they gripped the edge. He didn't want her to see the tears that slipped from his eyes. Her words were shaky as they crossed her trembling lips. "That's not the what kept me away though. When I first started bleeding, the pain was terrible, wouldn't let up, so he let me go to the clinic to get checked out. Turns out it wasn't my period, I was," she paused, almost too scared to say it. Tears sprang to her eyes as she whispered, "It was a miscarriage." She buried her face in her hands, afraid of what his reaction would be.

He whirled around, not quite comprehending, then it dawned on him, and it hit him like a freight train. "You were pregnant? It was mine?" he whispered, his voice catching in his throat. She nodded, a sob escaping her. She had never told anyone that part. He moved in front of her and knelt down. He pulled her hands down and turned her face to look at him.

"Oh, Kitten," he whispered, "did you think I would blame you?"

She nodded. "For a long time I did. I was messed up. Took me six years to realize it wasn't my fault. By then, I don't know, I figured you had moved on. Didn't want to open up old wounds. I was stupid." She shrugged her shoulders, acting as if it was no big deal, but a tear still slipped down her cheek.

He pulled her out of the chair and into his arms, cradling her as she cried, finally grieving the loss. Tears seeped from his eyes as he understood everything that loss meant. He would've been a father, could've had the chance to be better than his dad, to provide better for her, show her how much she was worth, watch her be a mother to his kid. All of that had been snatched away from them both.

"There's one more thing I have to tell you. Over those four years he never played it safe. I went back to that and other clinics every couple months or so. 12 abortions in all. It messed up my insides. Once I was free, I went to a doctor cause I'd never bleed, and they said I'll never have kids, that all the scar tissue in there would make it impossible." She paused a moment as something dawned on her, making her laugh sadly. "Guess that's a good thing nowadays."

"No, it's never a good thing that someone hurt you," he told her, shaking his head emphatically. He cupped her face, bringing her face to his. "I'll never hurt you." He leaned forward and kissed her gently, his lips barely brushing against hers. A shock ran through her and she kissed him back, her hand going to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, mouths and tongues slowly exploring. He traced a line down her back with his hand and wrapped it around her waist, pressing her into him as they knelt on the floor.

Just then the front door opened and Morgan and Rick walked in to see them kneeling on the floor locked in each other's arms. Daryl turned his head away, turning almost purple at being caught making out. Cat smiled softly at them, wiping the traces of tears from her face. Morgan smiled back and gave her an approving nod. Rick's face was grim, however, and she could tell they came bearing bad news.

"What is it?" The worry in her voice made Daryl snap his head around. He stood up, tugging her up from the floor. Her hand was trembling in his, and he squeezed it tightly, letting her know that he wasn't going anywhere.


End file.
